Flaming Youth
by Valeska Vampire Queen
Summary: Before Dracula found her, Aleera was simply Adelina Baboescu of Vaseria, a tap-maid in her father's inn. Discontented with her life, she'd often go to the forest outside the village at night with a young man. One evening, when her lover has left, she stays there a little too long. M for sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, my dears. New tale for you to make up for my lack of posting. Hope you enjoy. Next chapter to come next week. **

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"Well – I suppose this is goodnight then…"

"Aye, it is." Doru was hesitant, shifting from foot to foot as though unsure he had leave to go, but her comment hushed his mouth. With one last look at her; it could have been lust – her frame was bare still - or maybe even longing – he turned on his heel and headed back in the direction of the path. She watched him leave with a slight smile playing about her lips; up until this evening he had been brazen and cocksure; especially in front of the other village lads. When it had come down to it though his brashness had drained from him and he had been a doubtful boy – meek and malleable in her arms. All in all nothing she had not expected.

Still, at least tonight had been fine. Fine enough for her tryst to have taken place here rather than the stables where at any moment she might be discovered. Yet on cold nights where else was she to go? Doru might have been hesitant about leaving the safety of the village, but a casual reminder of what would have happened if they were caught had changed his mind. She began to hum as she pulled on her stockings. After all, who would want to be entrapped into marriage with a girl like her? It might not have been much, but at least she had finally cornered Doru, and she had been chasing him for over a month. Things really weren't so bad.

Stockings and petticoats she pulled on quickly; the cold set into her limbs quickly now they had finally stilled and she rubbed her hands together irritably. She was just fastening the tapes of her skirt around her waist (plain black serge of course, like any other woman in Vaseria) when she checked; realising what had been bothering her. She had not been able to put her finger on it for the last half hour – too concerned with Doru to think too deeply on it – but her fingers were prickling. Every Transylvanian knew what that meant.

Her heart constricted. Perhaps just some curious fox or even a villager? Her mind raced through the innocent explanations until another reality presented itself. On a night as fine as this one why were there no sounds? No animals scurrying in the undergrowth, no occasional own hooting to its mate. Her heart began to pound. Apart from herself and Doru the forest had been silent as a tomb.

"Good evening."

She spun around, her heart leapt into her mouth and for a moment it stopped beating when she saw who had spoken. She had prayed for a werewolf or even a Bride; something she had a better chance against, and it took all her will to quell the instinct to run when she realised who it was. The King of all those atrocities. Dracula himself.

He stood on the opposite side of the clearing; a cloaked figure barely ten feet from her; quite as regal and imposing as she had been told. From the lack of sounds he had likely been just out of sight since they had arrived here. Even she coloured at the thought of what he must have seen.

His lips curled into a taunting smirk and she mentally cringed at the figure she must have cut; clad only in her skirts with her hair dishevelled and her plump cheeks flushed – God, with her red curls she must look as though someone had set her face afire – her bosom completely exposed. His fangs were just discernable in the moonlight, glimmering at the corners of his mouth. Glimmering with sharpness. What was she _thinking, _blushing at her nakedness when _he _was before her, a vampire who appeared in Vaseria for one thing and one thing alone.

Holy Virgin, have mercy on her soul! She braced herself for his lunge that would likely come at any moment. Yet the Count remained as still under her gaze as the plaster statues in the church. She took a long, deep breath, and finally he bowed to her, as stately as though she had been any great society lady.

In her mind's eye she saw herself screaming, catching up her blouse and holding it protectively across her chest; as though that move would have done her any good. It was what any other woman from Vaseria would have done – yet she knew how useless it would be. Running, too, would not help; he could move faster than a Transylvanian horse and would catch up with her in seconds. She took a deep breath, and then dipped him a low curtsey, her back straight and her eyes respectfully lowered as she always did with her father's guests.

Soft slaps punctuated the silence, and her heart quickened, but when she looked up she realised it was just the sound of his leather gloves colliding as he applauded her.

"Very good my dear girl, very good."

She nodded; unsure what other response she could give. This was unreal; by all accounts she ought to be dead by now – everyone knew the Count took his fill in moments and was gone before any knew he had even been. She had never heard of him pausing to speak to anyone, bar the Valerious, before now. God, but this was wrong, she ought to be terrified and but instead all she felt was curiosity as to why Dracula himself had deigned to speak to _her_. She wished she dared ask.

"So, you have finally noticed me. One would have thought that a girl as rare as you seem to be would have known better than to be out here at this time. Tell me, what were you doing so far from home?" She recalled the sack finally, lying on the ground just behind her, and its tie was a long one. He'd be too quick for her if she tried to grab it, but, then again, perhaps not if she was clever about this.

"Well?" Too late she realised he'd been waiting for a reply. Well, he'd have noticed her movement but perhaps her answer might distract him enough for her to grab the sack with her foot. She shrugged.

"I am almost sure that you have been here since we arrived," he was strolling across the clearing now, closing the space between them, and her right foot which she had reached behind her (hopefully masked by her skirt) was indeed just brushing the loop of her sack, "you recognised what we did I am sure. Is Doru safe or did you catch him as he left?" Bold words for her but something seemed to have stolen proper decorum from her tongue. The absurdity of her situation, most likely.

Moonlight caught the hoops in his ears as he reached her. She had never seen such adornments on a man before, but they suited him somehow – gave him a roguish flavour. Thank God in heaven though, she had found the sack and it was open; her toes were dexterous without her shoes. The Count's eyes were bright – had they been so bright before? She could not remember – and assessed her figure openly. She stilled under his gaze and in a moment they returned to meet hers.

"Your – ah – sweetheart – remains unharmed and has by now reached his home. You ought to have gone with him." Relief jolted through her at that which surprised her – she hadn't known she cared so much.

"Aye – I know. Little point in reminding me that now though." There was that boldness again; she could not understand what possessed her to do it, but his words held a mocking note and his smirks were infuriating, and she'd never let anyone speak to her like that. The sack's contents was under her skirt, one stretch backwards and she could have it in her hand. Would it be enough though? The thought was forgotten as the Count reached out a gloved hand and touched her bare shoulder. The leather was smooth and cool. A little shiver went through her.

"Would you have preferred then, for him to have had your fate instead?" one finger traced her collarbone, "after all, it was you who enticed him here in the first place." His hands were leaving cold trails on her flesh. In God's name, what was she waiting for?

"I -," Her legs were growing weak; she stood there as helpless as a child. He had reached her neck, though when she spoke he paused and raised one eyebrow, his fingers hovering over her pulse. That finally spurred her, she wrenched back, grabbed the stake from under her skirt and in a moment had it hurtling towards his heart. She had had none of the training of the Valerious, but working for her father had strengthened her arm enough to take the stake to its mark, and she wondered if Boris himself could have done better. The Count staggered; his eyes wide and his strangled cry breaking the silence and she thought then that she was safe. But he stared down at the protrusion from his chest, back at her, and then laughed as though it were the funniest thing in the world.

"Ah, girl," he said after a moment, wiping a tear from his eye, "have the proud Valerious not yet told Vaseria that stakes are useless against me?"

Doru would not share her fate, he'd said. It was certainly sealed now. She considered the concept for the first time and blanched; a sharp sickness tightening in her belly. God knew she might never have envisioned much of a future for herself, but it suddenly struck her that even that was worth clinging to with all her might.

The Count must have known her terror – after all, her heart was racing – yet her first thoughts were to calm it somehow. If she was to die then she might as well do so in as dignified a manner as possible; he thought her enough of a fool already. To humiliate herself still further would never do.

She swallowed, hard.

"No, never. There were always stories of course – but none have got close enough in decades to test the theory. I wondered if it was but idle tavern talk." Her voice had thankfully steadied by the end of the sentence. The vampire smirked and shook his head. Heaven knew how he managed to retain dignity with a foot of stake poking from his chest – but he did it.

"Then you are a fool. The rest of Europe may live in an age of enlightenment and insight, but you ought to have known better than to have thought Transylvania did the same. Will the young never learn I wonder?" His voice grew softer, as though he were musing aloud, though she did not understand what he might have meant. He removed one glove delicately; revealing a hand as pale as bone, and tugged the stake from his breast. She gasped as he tossed it carelessly behind him. The fine silk of his shirt flared in the moonlight – and not one inch of it was torn. He stood

barely three feet from her.

She suddenly realised that he was not so tall; barely a head higher than her, but his shoulders were broad and his frame capable. His clothes were finer than anything she had seen in Vaseria, even on the Valerious, black breeches with knee-boots over them, the shirt and brocade waistcoat, all covered over by a fitted black coat whose embroidery glittered and a long dark cloak. She imagined he wore that out of habit – it was not as though he needed to keep out the cold.

Her eyes flicked back to his and she realised she'd been staring, but frowned as she saw he had been assessing her just as closely. An involuntary flush spread across her cheeks, and he stilled and smirked.

"Well then my little fool, now that little charade is over and before we get down to business, what might your name, and your age be?"

"Adelina. Adelina Baboescu." Her stomach churned again at his hint of what was to come, her appearance forgotten. "And I am eighteen."

"Very pretty my dear, and what is it that you do?" His stance had changed now, she saw, since he had assessed her, his movements easier, less predatory. What could he be about? She frowned.

"My father keeps an inn - _La barieră _– in the village. I work in the kitchen and the bar."

He raised one eyebrow. 'At the Barrier' – very apt for its location. Your father is an astute man, but tell me, does Vaseria entice enough guests for the running of an inn?"

She shrugged. "We have enough; supplies we cannot provide for ourselves are brought to us, and those who bring them must stop somewhere." And how often had she started after their wagons, dreaming that she might go with them. As though her father would ever have allowed that. Besides, we are somewhere for the villagers themselves to meet."

"I see. And yet through all of those guests and servants you are still unmarried?" She wore no ring on her finger. "Now, I wonder why that could be?" Temper flared in her belly despite herself, a sharp retort ready on her tongue. "Tell me then; do your elders know why no lad has come to the door asking your father to court you?"

She shrugged. "Not yet. But it probably won't be long before whispers among the young men catch their attention. I used to be more discreet, but it doesn't seem to matter now. I have begun to gain a reputation." He chuckled softly, deftly removing his other glove so both hands lay pale in the moonlight.

"You are far too young to act as cynically and as stoically as you do Adelina."

He raised an eyebrow when she paused, her face uncertain. He expected an answer. Damn.

"Cynically, stoically. What – what do they mean?"

Her voice cracked for the first time at the end of the sentence, more from humiliation than anything else. What must he think of the figure she cut – a village girl with so little schooling she could not even understand his conversation. The vampire simply waved his hand impatiently and she breathed again.

"A cynic is one who, like you, seems to know the price of everything but the value of nothing. A stoic is one who acts dispassionately. Terms, I think, which suit you to the ground, my girl." She stared incredulously, wondering how in heaven he could know that? He had met her this very hour!

The vampire gave her little time to think on it – a moment later closing the space between them till he stood right over her. All the hairs rose on the back of her neck, and this time she could not stop herself. She took a step back; he followed. Another and another, until her back was set against a tree trunk and he was just before her and she shuddered at his proximity. The Count laughed – a crueller sound than his earlier chuckle that echoed around the clearing and exposed his fangs fully. They seemed longer than before, and looked so sharp, and God help her she whimpered – she hadn't been able to stop herself. The Count smirked and closed his mouth, hiding the fangs from view.

"Well, for a stoic you fear me just fine."

He was toying with her, as though she were some kind of game to him. She could not bear his ridicule. This time when his hands reached for her she took a deep breath and contained her shivers, even when they wandered lower to her bosom. If that was what he wanted she at least knew she could endure it – hadn't she enough times before? Clumsy caresses, a few uncertain fumblings and it was generally very quickly over. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the smooth feel of the leather against her skin. She would manage this.

A glance back at the Count through threatened her composure; he had tilted his head to one side; a mildly amused expression on his face.

"Why, my dear girl, do you not care then, that in every man you have taken you have found nothing more than pain, boredom, and but a whiff of pleasure?"

She took a deep, ragged breath; another of the tavern tales she had dismissed was that the vampires could read minds.

"Oh no," the Count grinned, withdrawing his hands and taking a step back, "I cannot read minds, but when you have been alive as long as I have you learn to read people. Rare as you might think you are Adelina, I have met a hundred like yourself who believe because they have awoken to certain realities of life that they have some superior knowledge."

Hurt coursed through her at his words, childish of course; but she was powerless to stop it. He thought her a fool, a naïve little fool barely worth concerning himself with. Lord, what would the travelling lads, whom she worked hard with to make think she was something above them, think of her now? The Count chuckled again, surely fully aware of the effect his words had had, and sat down on a tree-stump. She stared at him in confusion.

"So," he raised an eyebrow, "what is your story? What drew you from oblivious existence, living out your days in insipid toil? A sweetheart perhaps? It is generally a sweetheart." He gestured for her to sit beside him. She took a deep breath and did as he requested; he had seen terror, panic and embarrassment, and she would be damned before she would let him know how frightened she was to sit so close.

"Well?" he asked when she did not speak.

"Well – the – the usual tale I suppose." She almost spat the words and he smirked, but she went on, assuming obliviousness.

"I had always had contact with the lads who brought supplies to the inn; I had to organise what they brought for the kitchen. They never paid me much attention until two summers ago. When they started on me I guessed their game, but there was one who seemed different. We had been close friends as children, and when he grew flattering and cajoling I never thought him capable of what the other lads would surely do. He swore if I did he would go to my father the very next day and ask to marry me, and then surely he would take me with him and I would go to a better life somewhere else. But when we were done he never spoke to me again."

When she glanced up at the Count she found him smirking again. He had leaned back lazily and propped one leg against the other knee. The very picture of languor and she still sat as stiffly as a board.

"Ah, yes, the usual tale. Many an innocent young girl has been caught out that way. But come, you have not told me all yet. How did you come from a ruined girl to such a callous woman?"

She stared at him, wondering how _he_, who had known her innermost secrets as if by instinct, could not understand.

"I – don't you see? All my life I did as I was told, laboured for my father and went to Mass every Sunday and Saint's day. And through _all_ of it I remembered my place, strove to honour my parents and never bring shame on them. I believed if I fell God would punish me, but afterwards there was nothing! My – courses – came as always and he must not have told any what had happened. And after weeks of fright when my father so much as spoke to me – I realised I was free. And how pointless my guilt had been, if there was to be no punishment and none were to know. Perhaps God does not even care – if there is a God at all!" There, she had said it, and looked back to him expectantly; sure he would finally see. But he was grinning.

"Ah, girl, don't be so sure of that. There are some sins even He will not ignore." He was silent as she stared at him, musing again. They said he was the devil's son – that was something else she had dismissed as idle talk – now though, she was beginning to wonder. Could he know for sure? But the vampire was gesturing for her to go on.

"I – well – I had learned something of men and that if they could use cheap tricks like that to get what they wanted from you then perhaps I could do the same to them. _That _might not be such fun, but finding someone and moulding them until they are as clay in your hands – now that is something!" He was still watching her, lounging as ever, that infuriating smirk still across his lips. If he wanted the truth he would have it – she would show him. "Well why not then, after all?" she hissed, her temper flaring higher. "I know I'll be caught soon – a year or two more at most and then I will be forced to marry someone who'll have to stay here, and then children and more children and toil will ruin me for anything more. Why not live a little now, the one chance I have to –," she stopped when the vampire turned from her, threw back his head and laughed.

She gritted her teeth and stared at him while he chuckled, wishing she dared show her contempt.

"What amuses you?" she muttered.

"Oh, Adelina." he said, turning back to her, still chuckling. She could feel herself growing redder. "But you have no idea how commonplace you sound. You are as all the young; a few lessons learned and you become so self-assured in your views that you cannot imagine anything will come along to challenge you. As arrogant as any of the lads you have despised, though perhaps a little less crude in your assurances. A few short years ,I think, would have cured you of that."

She didn't believe a word of his speech, and this must have shown in her face, for he was laughing the moment the thought had entered her head.

"Insulted, my poor, puffed up little popinjay? Don't be, you are not the first to think that way, nor will you be the last." He stood from the stump and stretched lazily, then held out a hand to her.

"Well, then, now that I have pierced that armour of yours would you care to learn something of life before you leave it?"

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**R&R, my loves?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A continuation, as promised. I do hope you enjoy it. Final part will be up next week. **

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The Count's hand was left unnoticed in front of her as she stared at him wide-eyed. It had been obvious _that_ had been on his mind for a while, but to propose it to her like this? Like a friend suggesting the showing of a new stitch or pattern, or a lad a walk in the town?

When she made no move the Count withdrew his hand, grinning.

"I do apologise if my being so forward has offended your sensibilities, but I myself have never found it to be much fun with an unwilling partner. It is far more pleasant the other way, would you not agree?"

She shrugged, trying to retain some humility. "Perhaps. But what if I did not care to learn?" The vampire shrugged.

"Then we would move straight on to the purpose I originally intended you for. The choice remains yours."

"Truly?" she muttered sarcastically, though more to herself than him. And he grabbed her shoulders, dragged her to her feet and forced her back against the tree trunk. Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply as he pressed himself close against her; his body was hard muscle and she could feel a stiffness against her belly. He was making her heart beat wildly, but he was cold too, and she could feel no pulse sound in _his _breast. A shudder went down her spine. He lowered his head so his lips were close against her ear.

"Well, what do you say? Die now almost as innocent as when you came into this world, or experience something of living before leaving it?"

"Do what you will!" she hissed. He chuckled, his laugh only heightening her fury. One finger brushed across her nipple.

"You ought to be more careful what you wish for, dear Adelina, you might just find it fulfilled." Her thoughts fogged as he stroked persistently, drifting away and did not return until his hands moved, brushing over her collar-bones to settle about her neck. She paled; with one quick squeeze he could have snapped it like a twig, but then they were at her hair, unpinning the heavy plait she wore coiled about her head. She allowed the lads to remove her bright head-cloth, but never more than that. Yet the Count had spread it over her right shoulder; scattering the pins, and deftly unwound the dark coils, then brushed it back so it hung to her waist.

"There now," he whispered, "exquisite." Some boys had muttered soft, meaningless nothings into her ears while they loved, generally indecipherable among gasps and moans, but she had never been called so before.

"Yes, indeed..." he mused. "And now mine." He leaned over and inhaled against her neck, and knots tightened in her belly.

"You'll kill me?" she raised dark, frightened eyes to meet his.

"Oh yes." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "But not for a while yet." He took one of her hands in his, leading her forward a step, as smoothly as though they were dancing. "Here," he said, placing it against the ties at his neck, "remove my cloak." The ties slipped through easily and with a hush of fabric the cloak was pooled at his feet. She glanced down at the pile as though she could scarcely believe what she had done – yet there it was.

"Good," he hissed, and then he was drawing her to him again. His lips trailed an icy path across her sternum which made her shiver and him smirk against her skin. She'd admit there was pleasure now, there was little point in denying it and of course the Count would be able to tell. Something still made her try to contain herself as much as she could – fall back into the old traits she adopted with the lads. Her eyes fixed on some faraway point, her mind on her next conquest and her expression steadfast and stony.

The Count would not allow it. When she began her tricks he pressed her hard against the tree-trunk, her frame trapped and forced to feel every inch of his body tight to her, her mind snapped back from disregard with every lick and pull at her throat and breasts until her skin was reddened with the marks of his teeth and whimpers edged between her lips.

"Better," he breathed, "And now that I have your attention –,"

Her heavy skirt fell with a brief tug. She stared; he must have unknotted the tapes without her noticing – and none had managed to do that before. She would not let him see he had rattled her though.

"The best you could manage?" She shrugged.

She could see from the moment the words passed her lips that her insolence had tried his patience too far, yet she did not see the hand which slapped her till her right cheek burned and her face snapped to the side.

"Any more of that, girl, and I will dispense with this and finish you right now. I have better uses for your boldness than insolence." He grasped a thick hank of hair and forced her to face him, "is that understood?"

"Understood," she muttered. She felt a child again, standing ashamed when some contrary remark had made her father deliver a sharp backhand. When he released her she wandered whether her cheek burned more in pain or chagrin.

"Good." He slipped his jacket from his shoulders.

"Well, share and share alike," he said when he saw her enquiring look. Somehow that relieved her; that he seemed to hold no lasting cares about her words. Now she stared at the layers of clothing his jacket had covered; his shirt was a tight one and defined his chest well; she recalled the feel of it against her earlier and the thought slipped into her head that she hoped he would allow her to remove it herself.

This time when he took her in his arms his hands were bolder – straight to her hips and running all over her back, cupping and squeezing as they went and leaving hot trails on her flesh that she had never felt there before. She caught her breath when he grasped her buttocks and half-lifted her against him, becoming suddenly aware that she could feel every inch of him through the thin cotton of her petticoat that – oh God – was likely half-transparent in the moonlight. He kept her so for who could tell how long, caught between himself and the tree – knees spread and held off-balance, breathing suddenly raggedly.

An echo broke the silence; the screaming howl of a vixen that made both of them start. His tensed muscles eased as he released her slowly.

"Do you feel something now?" he murmured, raising her chin so she had to look at him, "You never found it in those boys' arms did you?"

He mocked her again! Well, if he wanted her boldness then he would damn well have it. Work-coursed fingers reached up to his shirt buttons and tugged at them, slipping them free as fast as she could. She pushed his shirt back from his shoulders when it was loose; a warrior's body, stronger and more defined than any she had seen before.

There was a low rumble in his chest where their bodies touched. The Count had cocked an amused eyebrow.

"My my, Miss Baboescu, you do learn fast."

She knew she had coloured, her plump cheeks likely swelled and hot. Half an hour ago perhaps she would have hung her head in shame, but now she realised the challenge in his eyes and accepted it. It was time for him to have a taste of his own medicine.

She caught the edges of the shirt and slipped it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground with a soft hush, and reached up to touch him with inquisitive fingers. He was all ungiving muscle. There was no gasp as she caressed his nipples as she had brought forth before from Doru or one of the others, but his belly tightened when she leaned forward to explore him with her mouth. Pride swelled in her chest as she looked up and saw his eyes were very bright; he was not invulnerable then. Yet for all her best efforts those twitches, and, once, she thought, a hiss of air through gritted teeth were all she managed to elicit from him, and she could feel her frustration rising as time went on, wandering how she could be revenged on him for what he had managed to do to her. She pressed herself as close as she could, her bosom, ample as it had always been, like the rest of her figure, tight against him in a way that she knew pleased most men.

"A little far in the lesson, my girl, are you sure you can cope with this level?" Casually drawled of course, but a perhaps a little strained. Good. Her hands wandered lower on his chest, pausing above his belt. Should she risk this? But that comment had been infuriating.

She moved as suddenly as she could, cupping him tightly. They both gasped – his low in the throat and almost a moan. A triumphant smirk spread across her face, yet she was given no time to relish her victory. Cold, sinewy fingers caught her neck tightly, forcing her away from him and back against the tree. The trunk tore at her back - she looked up sharply, startled and confused, pride draining when she saw his face and realised what she'd done. His lips were pulled back, his teeth, indeed gritted but lengthened so that they stretched his jaw, and yes, his eyes were bright but red, far too red. No sardonic amusement there now, replaced by a single and far simpler emotion. Bloodlust.

She whimpered when he caught her wrists and held them down to her sides; his fingers harsh as shackles. God, she had heard that for vampires lust and bloodlust were as one and she had dismissed that as rumour too. He had been right, she was a little fool. She tugged at his hands desperately.

"You promised you wouldn't till - "and her cry was cut off when he sank fangs into her neck. Sharp pain; sharper even than when she'd sliced her hand on the carving knife and had ruined half the linen in the house trying to stop it bleeding, coursing from her neck and down her spine. She cried out – she couldn't help it, but he ignored her – she doubted he had even heard – his hands still cruelly tight, one holding a handful of hair to keep her still. He had said her hair was exquisite. She could hear him sucking and felt sick; dreadfully sick. The pain coursing through her was colder now – didn't they say you grew cold before death? Her eyes were growing hazy and dark.

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**Please R&R. Pretty please, with Johnny Depp on top?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, remember me? I got lost in my Master's degree, but I've popped back for the holidays. Happy Easter!**

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A shape in front of her, pale, and a smell of leather and something heady and metallic. She was lying on something soft. The shape was the Count's bare back. He lay with his back to her, clad only in his breeches, on his cloak which had been spread on the leafy floor. She found herself oddly fascinated by the sight of his bare feet; they were both thinner and longer than any she had ever seen on a man and with rather sharp toenails.

"You broke your promise," she muttered, nervously feeling her neck - there were puncture wounds there that were sticky with blood but did not seem to be bleeding.

He turned to face her, his larger frame looming over hers. He had unfastened his hair and it hung about his shoulders in a curtain, and he leaned so near that some strands tickled her face. Terror made her flesh crawl, but if she ran he'd catch her in a heartbeat. She steeled herself to remain still beneath him.

"Do not twist my words girl; I made you no such pledge. I said only that I would not kill you before we were done here. You live still, do you not?"

She didn't speak, but he pressed her, his will crushing behind her brows, till an "aye" was forced from her lips.

"Then you've nothing to complain about have you?" he said sardonically, and before she had had time to answer he had pressed his lips to hers. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as his tongue skittered across the roof of her mouth, barely having time to respond as she realised he was finally kissing her, but he pulled back quickly, his hands caressing her easily, almost absently.

"I took but a little, girl," he murmured, "never fear. It will not harm you - you fainted more from fright than anything."

She put her hand up to her neck again to finger the bites. "I see."

"I'm glad. Lean back now." His was pushing her down, and, fleetingly, she wondered what he would have done if she had protested this. But then he was on top of her, and she could feel him all and at once became acutely aware of her remaining petticoat, tight and barely covering her. His lips were soft and his tongue probing her, goading just enough for her to return the favour. He lips touched her face; the corners of her mouth and then under her eyes, licking away the remnants of the tears she had shed. She let herself sink back, her eyes closing, resentment forgotten momentarily with his kisses. She could not tell how long they lay there but she opened her eyes when she felt the pain in her throat fade. The Count drew back then and she sat up, feeling up to her throat to find it whole.

"You see," the Count said, "what your young men don't know is that it's important to build the anticipation for something like this."

"Really?"

"Aye, and you need to learn that simply falling to the ground and lifting your skirts will get you nowhere. Proceed slowly, and believe me you shall reap the rewards later."

"Oh? Strong words Count, how are you going to prove them?"

He laughed at her boldness. "Have a care my dear, you do not wish me to lose control again do you? No, I fully intend on proving my words to you, in due course. The kiss for example," and he was leaning back with her, drawing her close against him, "a kiss may do many things. It can be tantalising, affectionate, or perhaps even comforting. For vampires, it can carry life or death in its wake. But," he paused, "then again, at times it can be something else entirely."

And his mouth was descending on hers again, his lips forcing her mouth open and he explored with an intensity that stopped her breath. She kissed him back with equal fervour, he responded by twisting his fingers tightly in her hair. All thoughts of her fate, of Doru and the others slipped right from her mind as they duelled for control, and she pitted everything she had learned from each casual encounter against him. Her hands slid up around his neck, holding him tightly to her as she tried her utmost to give as good as she got but he was stronger; his fingers roughly exploring her – hips, breasts, and in-between her legs until she moaned. He nibbled at her bottom lip before he pulled back to whisper in her ear.

"You see my point, dear Adelina?"

"I do not trust you," she said, though her insides felt hot and liquid.

"Little fool…"

There was no trifling this time; his mouth went straight to her nipple, grazing and tugging it until she gasped. One hand gathered her petticoat, pulling it up to her thighs and then long fingers slipped between. She moaned, her legs quivering as he persisted, the coil in her belly tightened so much it was almost unbearable. Her fingers twined in his hair, holding him tightly to her.

"You see now?" he murmured into her skin, and when she didn't answer he nipped her shoulder sharply.

"Yes..."

"Excellent." And suddenly he pushed her from him. Her breast and belly were extremely cold without his contact, and she sat up, staring, hating him for pulling back just then. But he was unbuttoning his breeches.

"You understand then, what I told you earlier. You are young still, and there is much life can teach you." He raised one eyebrow. "I believe that _this _will be a prime example for you." And he grasped her hand and placed it between his legs. She gasped; he was not chilled as before, but warm, so warm in her hand.

"You are ready for me now," he whispered, and she nodded eagerly. He took her waist in his hands, turning her over and loosening her petticoat ribbons, then drawing the garment from her and tossing it aside. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and wondered why; surely _he _did not need to breathe?

"Oh, _devil_ but you're beautiful," She found herself giggling.

"Truly?"

"Aye truly," he chuckled, and his fingers slipped between her legs again, pinching and caressing until she squirmed on the cloak. "And don't you be getting conceited, Madam."

"Never," she murmured as he eased her back over again. He was white, very white, as he settled himself against her, his skin almost transparent against the black wool of his cloak; the veins showing through skin like paper. She could not think him weak though, as he spread her thighs apart and lay between.

He laid her back onto the cloak; catching her hands and placing them above her head, holding them there, cool fingers fetters about her wrists, though at this late stage she could barely bring herself to care. She was warm, so warm inside her; coiled tight as a spring. And then he was within her and he was icy cold, and it hurt, worse than with her gypsy lad all those years ago. But when he began to move; deliciously slow, it brought more heat to her belly. Her legs quivered where they lay spread and she strained against his hands, but he shook his head.

"Not just yet." She frowned at that, not understanding, and it was only when he increased his pace; that she realised why. She strained harder, wanting to reach her arms around his neck and hold him to her, but he would not allow it. He kept her hands pinioned there until he coaxed soft moans past her lips and she wondered how she could bear it. It was only then that he released her. She reached up and kissed him then; never knowing why she did it, and he smiled – gentle, but with some sadness in it.

He was a forceful lover; marking her neck and breasts with bites until they bled; his eyes red and eager. Tears sprang up at the pain, but once he was done he lifted her up and on top of him, holding her hips tightly and it felt deeper and hotter than anything she had ever felt before, and she forgave him his cruelties. He worked her with fingers and tongues and thrusts until she begged for him to end it, and he would ease from her until her sweat cooled before he struck again. And it wasn't till she was almost there – hair damp and body aching with need, that he released her, and twined her arm about his neck.

"Not long now, pet. But you must do this one thing for me first." He took her hand to his mouth and sucked at her fingers. She whimpered; his fangs were drawn and her fingers were cut on them; she watched as his eyes grew red while he licked the blood away. Then he was leaning forward and placing them firmly between her legs. "Show me," he whispered in her ear.

She knew what he wanted; none knew of it but herself on nights alone in the forest after lads had left her for home. But she let him see it, and he watched with eyes growing brighter and redder and rocked into her. And then with a shudder she was done, her eyes rolling back and her hands clutching out wildly, holding him to her with her spine and fingers and toes flexing.

She drifted as she caught her breath, hardly noticing, with the satisfied twitch in her belly, that he had laid her out, leaning her against his shoulder, kissing the marks he had made, or that he was breathing as harshly as her. She cared not about anything - not even the promise he had made her earlier - as long as he would let her lie still.

Seconds or minutes or hours later he raised himself and murmured in her ear. "You cannot sleep here, Adelina." There was a musky smell in the air, and a chill was setting into her limbs. Damp wool prickled her back. She opened her eyes to find him standing, dressed, and her lying the cloak wrapped around her. How long had she lain there?

"You must dress."

She stood then, shivering, and gathered her clothes up from around them. She turned away from him to dress – God knew why; she had never been one for modesty – but once she had pulled on her skirts he came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. He caught up her stays from where she had tossed them when Doru had been here – Lord, it seemed days ago – and laced them for her. She remained motionless, letting him raise or drop her arms to dress her as he wished. She felt as though she was watching them from a point across the clearing. He even tended her hair for her – combing it with an ebony comb from his pocket, plaiting it and pinning it about her head. When her head-cloth was neatly tied he turned her about to face him.

"So steady," he murmured, slipping a cool palm inside her blouse to lie over her heart. "Do you not fear me then, my dear, here at the last?" She didn't, perhaps couldn't answer him, and he raised her chin gently with two fingers.

"Adelina. Look at me, Adelina." She swallowed – her throat was dry, she found - but looked up to find his eyes were dark and steady, no hint of the red of lust or even bloodlust.

"Have you learned now, pet?"

She swallowed again. "Aye." Her voice was cracked. He smiled, and there was no hint of mockery in it.

"Learned what? Tell me."

"I – I was wrong. There is more, much more, about life that I wasn't thinking of." She imagined that here, at the last, it was what he wanted to hear. She could not bring herself to care that right now, she could not even tell if it was the truth.

"Good," he murmured, "good." And he bent and kissed her forehead, once. "Then go."

That roused her from her stupor; her breath caught in her throat; she almost choked as she stared at him astounded.

"Go?" He smiled.

"Go, and live properly," he waved his hand impatiently, as though pushing a nuisance of a child to amuse itself, "well, play as it pleases you but one day let yourself love, and live for yourself and not for Vaseria, your parents or even the Valerious."

"T-truly?"

He smirked. "Yes, truly. I have taken my fill from you. But go, quickly, before I change my mind." His eyes flashed briefly; a reminder of what she had learned, once and for all, what he was capable of. She saw herself turning; darting away to her own bed where she would hide her head under the blankets like a child and not raise it until dawn light showed through the window. And then what? Rising with the sun in the morning and not seeing her bed again until it had set, with only the distraction of the occasional traveller. She would likely have to marry one someday. So instead, amazing at herself, she looked up and looked the vampire right in the eye.

"No."

For the first time he looked rattled, confused, his brow furrowed. "No? Dear girl, what can you mean?"

"I mean no. I will not go back to a – stifling – life like that. I cannot. In years to come it will kill me."

He raised his eyebrow. "Really? Well, what then, my dear, do you intend to do?"

"I want to come with you."

He stared, frowning, in disbelief. She almost smiled, knowing she had caused the look, but did not dare, struggling to keep her breath quiet she was so afraid of his answer. Finally he reached out his hand, took hers and led her back to the stump they had sat upon.

"You do know what that would mean my girl, don't you? If you come with me you will spend an eternity at my side. You cannot know, now, how long that is. In centuries you may well decide you have made the wrong decision, pine for those years with a husband, and a child. Yes, even _you _may find yourself longing for that."

She raised her eyes to his, earnest, steady, trying to reassure him. God, why would he not listen.

"It will be the right choice." But the vampire shook his head.

"You are too young my dear. You do not know enough of life to be able to make that kind of choice." Flickers of temper at that.

"Truly? Too young? You did not think me so a few minutes ago on that cloak."

She expected the slap, but not the absentness with which he delivered it, barely glancing back as she put her hand to her swollen cheek.

He faced away from her. "No, you will understand what I have to say. If you make this choice there can be no turning back."

She was starting to grow impatient, though she did not dare show it. "Please? I know what I am asking." Cold fingers raised her chin and she stared into the Count's eyes. They were clearer than she had seen them before, and though she knew what a figure she must cut, with her wrinkled clothing, musky scent and flaming cheeks, she met them fiercely. If he didn't take her, she had nothing.

"You're sure, my dear?"

"I'm sure." He stood.

"Very well. Then come."

She barely believed her ears till he removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders; it swamped her, but he secured it the folds tightly about her, raising an eyebrow at her disbelieving look. "Well, the journey to my home will be a cold one, my alluring Adelina." She blushed at that, and he grinned.

"Why has no young lover called you that?"

"No – they – they have always called me Aleera."

"Aleera," he murmured, testing the name on his tongue. "It suits you well. Come then, my darling Aleera."

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**I don't deserve reviews, but I'm going to shamelessly beg anyway. *Begs***


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